Old Dan’l had a straw hat in his hand—a hat that was rather ragged at the edge, and with which, as if it was to allay some irritation, he kept sawing one finger.
“Beg pardon, sir—pardon, Miss,” said Dan’l apologetically; “but if I might speak and say a few words—”
“Certainly, Daniel; you may do both,” said the doctor.
“Thanky, sir—thanky kindly, Miss,” said the gardener, half-putting his hat on twice so as to have it in the proper position for making a bow; “which I’m the last man in the world, sir, to make complaints.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor.
“Serving you as I have now for over twenty year, and remembering puffickly well, Miss, when you was only a pink bit of a baby, as like one o’ my tender carnations as could be, only more like a Count dee Parish rose.”
“Well, what’s the matter, Daniel?” said the doctor hastily, for he wanted to bring the old man’s prosings to an end.
“Well, sir, heverythink, as you may say, is the matter. Look at me, sir; I’ve suffered more in that garden than mortal man would believe!”
“Oh, have you!” said the doctor, taking off his glasses. “You don’t look so very bad, Daniel, for a man of sixty-five.”
“Sixty-four and three-quarters, begging your pardon, sir; but I have suffered. I’ve laid awake nights and nights thinking of what was best for planting them borders with s’rubs, as is now a delight to the human eye; and I’ve walked that garden hundreds o’ nights with a lanthorn in search o’ slugs, as comes out o’ they damp meadows in in counted millions; and I’ve had my cares in thrips and red spider and green fly, without saying a word about scale and them other blights as never had no name. But never in my life—never in all my born days—never since I was first made a gardener, have I suffered anythink like as I’ve suffered along o’ that there boy.”